


No Syringe in the Nightstand

by westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-04-09
Updated: 2005-04-09
Packaged: 2019-05-30 17:03:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15101177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist/pseuds/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist
Summary: This is the conclusion of the two-part "No Syringe" series.





	No Syringe in the Nightstand

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

**No Syringe in the Nightstand**

**by:** MAHC 

**Characters:** Abbey and Jed  
**Category:** Jed/Abbey, Drama/Romance/Angst  
**Rating:** MATURE  
**Spoilers:** “Shutdown;” “Abu el Banat”  
**Disclaimer:** Jed and Abbey are not my characters, but I wish they were.  Then I could let them do what I want them to do on the show!  
**Summary:** This is the conclusion of the two-part “No Syringe” series.  It’s a post-ep for “Abu el Banat.”  I wanted to see a little more of the evening after the intense moment between Jed and Abbey.  This story fits in with “Redemption,” my post-ep for “Shutdown.”  


That’s that.  Did he just sum up their future in two words?  Abbey looked away, didn’t think she could face that right then.  Things had been going – well, not great, but okay, better.  She was there.  The girls were there.  She and Jed were talking again.  Easy stuff, nothing deep, nothing that challenged the tenuous peace they had achieved.

Until now.  Damn it.

He had waved the apple slice, talking around the piece in his mouth.  A casual comment, she thought.  “I’m putting together a panel on assisted suicide.”

It was out of the blue.   Off subject.  A curve ball.  She looked at him, tried to read what he was really saying.

“Your position has changed?”  And if he had, how did she feel about it?

But he shook his head, still crunching on the fruit.  “Uh uh.”

And it was before them again, in a way that they hadn’t addressed for years, maybe since that first diagnosis.  She didn’t know what to say, couldn’t bear to respond at all, so she sat there and willed him to change the subject.

He didn’t.  Dear God, he didn’t.  Hesitantly, almost flinching, he asked, “You gonna be there?”

It stunned her.  He was asking her if she would stay with him while he died, slowly, painfully, miserably.  Would she be there?  Anger flashed through her.  How could he ask?  How could he even think she would abandon him after all they’d been through?

Then she looked at him again, and nausea rose threateningly in her throat.  Wasn’t that what she had done?  Abandoned him?  Left him to his guilt and burden for months?  Oh God.  He didn’t know.  He really didn’t know.  She saw it in his eyes, those eyes that had communicated effortlessly with her for 36 years.  He was scared.  Not of dying, not even perhaps of what the disease would do to him.  But he was scared of doing it alone.  Without her.

Damn it.  What the hell had she been doing?

Through the thickness in her throat, she forced out, “Yeah,” and rose to leave, knowing she couldn’t hold back the sobs that were forcing their way out.  She had already turned her back to him when she heard the ragged voice.

“Abbey.”

It was torn from his heart, and in that one word she heard the regret, the fear, the apology, the plea.  Everything in one word.  It stopped her, delayed her own anguish another moment.  Overwhelmed, she almost lunged for him, the love and grief swamping her, threatening to drown her.  Her hand clutched him at the back of the neck, her lips pressed hard against his forehead.  She felt him lean into her touch, his muscles like steel beneath her grip.  She held the kiss for a long beat, then pulled back, her hand naturally reaching up to wipe the lipstick from his skin, to caress through his hair before she knew she couldn’t hold back any longer.

The calmness of her parting comment surprised her.  “Gus is still up.  Go say goodnight.”

But the last word barely made it out before her throat closed.  She rushed past the secret service agents, ignoring their subtle glances, the slight pinch to their brows.  She didn’t need their eyes on her now.  She needed to be alone, to deal with the sickening jolt her had given her, both a reminder of what was to come and a revelation of just how deeply she had shaken him these past months.  In the sanctuary of their bedroom, she stumbled through the bathroom door and fell to her knees before the toilet.

“What on earth is going on with the Christmas tree?”

Abbey jerked awake, her eyes heavy, swollen.  When had she fallen asleep?  She checked her watch.  Only 30 minutes since she had fled the dining room, since she had finally succumbed to the nausea and thrown up in the Residence toilet before crying herself out on the sofa.

“Mom?”  Liz had stopped her approach, staring at her with that shaken look a child gets when confronted with the unaccustomed human frailty of a parent.  Abbey knew she had seen her mother cry only a handful of times in her life, and probably never seen the results of such a gut-wrenching episode.  Her oldest daughter looked horrified.

“Mom, what is it?  What’s wrong?”

But Abbey couldn’t tell her.  Didn’t know how to even if she had wanted to.  So she just shook her head and forced a smile.  She must look dreadful.  Standing, she took a few steps toward the bathroom before Liz moved in front of her.

“Mom?”

“I’m fine.  What were you saying about the tree?”  Misdirection.  Sometimes worked.

“You are not fine.”  Sometimes.

“Liz, please don’t.”  As she held her daughter’s eyes, she saw the reluctant obedience.

A pause.  An understanding.  “It’s, uh, it’s flashing on and off.”

“What?”

“The tree.  It’s flashing on and off.  Is it supposed to do that?”

Thank you.  Now the smile turned a little more natural.  “Your dad took Gus out there.  Just the two of them.”

At the mention of her father, Liz’s eyes darkened, her jaw hardened.  “Doug wants to run for Congress.  Daddy won’t back him.”

“Yeah.”  Abbey had told Jed it was Doug’s fight, but deep down, she knew her husband couldn’t knowingly do something to hurt the state his family had founded.  And neither of them truly saw Doug as the prize candidate, even though he was family – in a way.  But Doug was just a good fellow who was once a pretty fair pitcher and didn’t have any real enemies – or any real supporters.

“Sweetheart, there may be other factors – “

“Don’t you think I know?  But, my God, Mother, it’s his son-in-law!  My husband.  If he doesn’t support him, Doug doesn’t stand a chance.”

“He probably doesn’t stand a chance anyway,” Abbey figured, but didn’t say it.  She had always been supportive of both Liz and Doug.  He was a good husband, a good father.  Even Jed acknowledged that.  But she secretly agreed with him that Doug wasn’t the brightest light on the tree.

“You know,” she said carefully, “I’ve always thought you’d be the one to follow your father into politics.”

The chocolate hair swung around, and those hard eyes burned.  Oops.  Bad move.

“I don’t have to be everything, Mom.  I don’t have to prove myself.  I want to be there for my kids.  I don’t plan to put them second to a career that monopolizes my time.”

Abbey felt the flush across her face, stepped back to put some space between them before she let the instinctive physical response take over.  The vehemence in Liz’s tone shocked her.  Slowly, she asked, “What are you saying, Elizabeth?”

But her daughter didn’t back down.  “I’m saying that there are things more important to me than fame and fortune.”

“I was able to – “

“You were able to be the most sought-after thoracic surgeon on the East Coast.  You were able to serve as First Lady of New Hampshire at the same time.  You were able to catch a soccer game or a Christmas play if you could fit it into your schedule.”

“That’s not fair, Liz.  Your father was there – “

“Yes.  When I was young, he was.  But then cam Congress, and then State House, and you were both important and busy people.”  She had turned her back now, and Abbey made herself stay rooted to the spot and not grab her shoulders and jerk her around to face her.

“Don’t make me feel guilty about working hard, Elizabeth.  Me or your father.  We were there.  We made sure we were a family.  We carted you all over Manchester.  You and Ellie and Zoey.   I left the hospital to attend PTA meetings in my scrubs, then went back to the hospital.  We visited all the damned National Parks for God’s sake.  Are you telling me you felt deprived or abandoned?  That your father and I weren’t good parents?”

She wasn’t sure if she really wanted to hear the answer, if she wanted her daughter to tell her she had ruined her childhood, but she suddenly needed to know.

Liz sighed and lowered her eyes, shifting her stance in a move so like Jed that Abbey had to choke back a sob.  “No,” she conceded.  “You were good parents.  Dad was geeky and fun and so proud of all of us.  And you always told us we could do whatever we wanted.”

“Then what – “

“I just -  I just want something else.  That life is not for me, and I don’t need you and Dad pushing me into it.”

Abbey stayed silent.  Didn’t really know what to say anyway.

“I’m sorry, Mom.  I’m disappointed for Doug.  I’m mad at Daddy for not backing him – for letting Josh tell him instead of – “

“There are lots of things – “

“ – going on.  I know.  Aren’t there always?  Government shutdowns, standoffs with the Speaker of the House, Christians begin persecuted in the Sudan – “

“ – assisted suicides.”  Hell, she hadn’t really meant to say that aloud, but from Liz’s expression, it was perfectly audible.

Liz stopped, staring at her.  “What – has he been – “

Abbey nodded.  No need to hide anything now.  “The DEA wants to interfere in Oregon, even though state law recognizes the legality of assisted suicide.  Your dad argued it was a state right and now there’s going to be a discussion.”  Sounded simple enough, but Liz saw through her nonchalance.

“Has he changed his position – “

“No.’

“Then why – “

“He’s – he’s thinking more about it now.”

The face before her that reminded her of herself twenty years earlier turned white.  Fingers clutched her hand almost convulsively.  “Mom, is he – “

She shook her head.  “He’s fine.  Right now.”  And that was the key, wasn’t it?  Right now.  “He’s just – it’s on his mind.”

Their first born child nodded, her eyes down, her hand dropping from Abbey’s and brushing her own forehead.  After a minute, she lifted her gaze.  “Are you all right?”

Abbey smiled sadly.  “Yeah.  I’m okay.  And he’s okay.  I think maybe he’ll be better now.”  She didn’t explain herself, and Liz didn’t ask.  They both knew what she was talking about.

After a long pause, Liz sighed and broke the tension of the moment.  “Maybe Gus has had his fun with the tree,” she said, turning away.  “He needs to be in bed.”

Abbey placed a hand on her arm.  “Let him have this time.”  Liz didn’t ask if she meant Gus or Jed.

But she smiled, the first one all evening.  “Yeah.  Well, goodnight, Mom.”

They hugged briefly, neither one testing it long enough to risk a more emotional scene.  She watched her grown child leave, proud and aching all at once.  One day, Liz would see she couldn’t refuse the call.  It was in her blood.  One day.

By the time he came upstairs, she had bathed and slipped into one of his pajama tops, covered by a silk robe.  Chewing nervously on her lower lip, she watched him close the doors behind him and shrug out of his jacket.  

“Hey,” she called softly.

His head turned in surprised.  “Hey.”

“Maybe you could get the groundskeeper to install a clap on – clap off for the tree.  Then Gus could just do it from the porch.”

He grinned.  “He had fun.”

“Was he the only one?”

“No,” he admitted freely.

But the light moment vanished under the weight they both carried.  They had opened doors and it was too late to go back through.  “You okay?” she asked.

He followed her somber tone, nodding.  “Yeah.”

They watched each other for a full minute.  It was Jed who broke the silence.  “Abbey, are you back?”

Her answer didn’t require words.  There were no more words.  She stood, dropping the robe from her shoulders, and took a step toward him, her body moving in clear invitation.  They had not been together since she returned, had not even touched except for the brief moment in the kitchen the night she came back.  He hadn’t asked, hadn’t pushed.  But now she saw the gratitude in his eyes, the desire – maybe the fear.

She had caught him unprepared, but it didn’t take long for him to catch up.  Her body pressed against his, her hands rambled through his hair, unbuttoned his shirt, slipped into his trousers, and he was right there with her.  They had choreographed this dance years before, but each time added a new movement, a different step.  His arousal, warm and hard against her, took her back through the years, past the turmoil of the present, the struggles of the past, to that first time, that maiden voyage of their bodies, their minds, their souls.

This time might not be as wild, as athletic as that first time, but it was more satisfying, more healing, more needed.  She welcomed him back into her with love, with forgiveness.  And in turn, her body asked forgiveness from him.  And suddenly they both were overcome with the intensity of their sensations, their bodies so long denied these feelings.  The eruption took them together, carried them hard against each other, gasping, sweating, clutching.  Her muscles spasmed around him, glorying in the fullness, the sheer physical pleasure.  Even as she reared her head back and cried out his name, she felt the hard pulses rush through him and flood her, over and over, until he gave one last agonized groan and collapsed, his body heavy on hers.

Oh, how she had missed that.  How she had missed him.  They lay there, both panting, both unable to move, his head on her shoulder, her hands running lightly over his back and hips.

Finally, without lifting his body, he murmured her name, an obvious preface to some deep revelation.  No, she didn’t want that.  He was going to thank her.  For coming back.  For promising to stay.  For having sex with him.

And she didn’t want to hear any of it.  “I talked to Liz.”  Misdirection again.

Now his chin lifted a little.  “And?”  This time it worked.

“She thinks we were good parents.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“We weren’t Currier and Ives,” he reminded her.

“But we were good.”

“Yeah.”

“Jed?”

The importance of what she had to say bled through her tone.   He eased out of her and slid to the side, lying on his back and staring at the ceiling.

“Yeah?”

“I’ll always be here.”

She heard him swallow, didn’t dare look at him or she would be totally and completely lost.  He didn’t respond right away.  The shuddering breath told her all she needed to know.  His hand found hers, and they entwined their fingers solidly.

It was with a thick voice that he finally answered her.  “I’m sorry.”

Did he mean he was sorry for Shareef?  Or Zoey?  Or running again?  Or having MS?  It didn’t matter.  She forgave him everything – except the MS.  There was nothing to forgive there.

Sliding onto her side, she leaned over him, took his face in both hands and repeated, her words measured, precise, “I will always be here.”

Now the tears ran freely down his face, onto the pillow, and she felt her own join them.  Her arm settled around his waist, her head braced against his shoulder, until they began breathing more evenly.

Some of the pain had lifted from his voice when he spoke next.  “So who’s going to be here still for breakfast?”

Clearing her throat, she did her best to fall into the lighter conversation.  “Everyone, I think.  I know Liz isn’t leaving until mid-morning.  Ellie, too, maybe.”

“Let’s all eat together.”

“The table will probably still be set from tonight.”  No one was really hungry when they finally all got together.

“No.  Not the dining room.  Somewhere fun.  The Truman Balcony maybe.  Or the Rose Garden.”  She heard the childlike hope in his voice and it sounded good.  She had missed it for so long.

“Okay, but not too early.”

“Why not?”

She slid a hand down his stomach to caress him, to ignite his desire again, desperately pushing back the evil shadow that loomed somewhere on the horizon, the hovering threat of the disease that would rob them of such moments.  Not yet.  It hadn’t taken this yet, and she wouldn’t squander the chances again.

He responded eagerly, swelling under her fingers, and pulled her over on top of him.  As she straddled him, sighing at his strong entrance, she leaned forward so that her mouth met his.

“I love you.”  She wasn’t sure who had said it.  Maybe both of them.

No syringe in the nightstand.  She didn’t know how much longer they had.  Didn’t know what would happen when the moment came.  Didn’t know if she could make the decision to abide by his wishes.  Didn’t know if she could make the decision _not_ to abide by his wishes.

But those things were suddenly far away as his body moved in hers.  And for that night, at least, they faded in importance.  They would return.   Both of them knew that.

But not until morning.


End file.
